


Waving flags and maracas

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of drabbles for the 2014 World Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teasing (Bernard Duarte + David Luiz)

**Author's Note:**

> These will probably be extremely short and I have no idea how many will follow, but I needed to publish my thoughts somewhere. Don't go commenting 'this is too short', please, because I get that. It's a _drabble_ , it's supposed to be less than 1000 words.

David had been teasing him about his length the whole bus ride to the airport and it was driving Bernard a bit crazy. He had tried taking revenge by making comments on his hair or his face or his club, but it didn’t seem to affect David at all. At last, when the bus was riding into the airport, David seemed to get annoyed.

“I’ll get you back, little bastard,” David said. He winked once, but then his face went dead serious, which worried Bernard. As the bus halted and everyone got up, David took hold of Bernard’s hand. “You’re too small to walk off buses on your own.”

 

“You idiot!” Bernard shout-whispered as they were making their way down the aisle to their spots in the back of the plane.

“Why?” David grinned. “Don’t you think it’s sort of funny?”

“No it’s not.” Bernard tugged his hand out of David’s grip, only slightly surprised at the fact he was still holding it. “People think you’re gay. They’re right of course. It only takes one look to confirm that.”

“Not gay,” David hummed, shoving Bernard towards two seats on the left.

“Sure.” Bernard took the seat by the window and sighed. He was annoyed and angry and concerned, but there was another part of him that kind of didn’t mind holding hands with David Luiz. “People don’t care about me. I’m so small and your hair is so big, people can’t even see me.”

“Wrong.” David put his bag down and took his phone from his pocket, as if he was going to use it to make his point. “People care about you a lot _because _you’re tiny. That’s cute.”__

__“I’m not tiny,” Bernard objected, but there was a childlike sound in his voice and the pout on his blushing face only made matters worse._ _

__“If you admit you’re tiny, I’ll admit I’m gay.”_ _

__Bernard shook his head at first, but then he realised what David had just said As he turned his face in shock, David had already put on his headphone and was softly rocking his head along to the music. He closed his eyes and breathed heavy as the plane took off and soon he was gone. Bernard watch him fall asleep, watched the way his mouth was slightly open and his eyelashes fluttered as the sun fell on his face. And it was beautiful, he thought. So when David’s heavy sleeping head fell on his shoulder, he didn’t push it away. Instead, he took his hand in his and squeezed gently, because yeah, perhaps he was tiny._ _


	2. Staring (David Luiz + James Rodríguez)

James Rodriguez felt his heart beat in his chest as they gathered in the tunnel next to the Brazilians. He was nervous, because of how intimidating Brazil was and the fact they _had_ to beat them for their nation, but he also had faith in himself and in his team, faith that things were going to work out. It was going to be tough, but surely they could win over Brazil if each player tried at his best.

As he was giving one last handshake to Falcao, he started feeling uncomfortable, bearing the idea that someone was staring at him. Not the cameras; he was used to that by now. His eyes scanned the room and when they met another pair staring back at him, everything stopped for a moment. His heart skipped a beat and the noise of the crowd outside in the stadium faded to a minimum, while he heard the rhythm of his own heart take over his entire world, although it didn’t quite feel like his own heartbeat.  
He would never forget those brown, piercing eyes. It felt all too intense, because there was no one else they could possibly be staring at and even after what felt like long minutes, David Luiz was still staring at him.

His cheekbones were quite impressive, much more than when he had seen him in pictures or on TV. His hair was in fact immense, his curls so tiny and lustrous and James could only wonder what it felt like to touch him. But his eyes were the most beautiful, most unreal part of his face.

Eventually the Brazilian man smiled and came over to wish him luck. “I’ve seen you play, dude. You’re good.”

A bit taken aback by the massiveness of David Luiz’ near presence – not necessarily his body – all James could do was stammer “Thank you, you too.” But David’s hands were touching a lot suddenly – James’ hand at first, but also his sides and shoulders and head and somewhere in the process his thumb ran along his cheek. And it was a trick, James found himself hypothesising. Psychological intimidation. Distraction. Sexual frustration. And it was working.

James’ breath was coming out ragged and he knew his mouth was slightly open as he looked up into those eyes that were comforting despite the unsaid threat. He wished he was a little bit more like David Luiz, had a little bit more nerves to touch his opponents like that. Because of psychological intimidation, of course, and not because he desperately needed to know what it felt like to get his hands stuck in those Brazilian curls.

“Good luck.” David winked and at last he wasn’t touching James anymore. That gave him some strength back, but it also made him want to go back to the moment seconds ago, or flash forward to a moment after the match when they could touch again and sit in silence and let his hands roam like David’s just had, while their eyes kept still on each other.

And that was when he realised there was still a game to play. There was focus to regain and battles to fight and this wasn’t the time for a new friendship to arise. But he couldn’t stop feeling like this was the beginning of a brand new story. So instead of wishing David the same and letting both of them return to routines, James said: “Perhaps you need it more than we do.”

“Ooh.” David wiggled his eyebrows and took a step back, but the playful grin did not disappear, nor did his eyes turn away.

At last someone called to get in line and the noise of the fans in the stadium became louder than his heartbeat again, and things were happening around them. Life had been unpaused before him. As he was lining up with the others he took one final look at David, to check if the pause had been real or imaginary, but David returned his gaze and smiled, then gave him a daring look. It felt like this wasn’t a world cup quarterfinal, but a childhood bet. David was the curls and the cheekbones and the lovely brown eyes he had missed in Colombia. James had just found himself a very good reason to win today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually after yesterday I feel so inspired bc crying David, I feel more than drabble potential XD


	3. Leaving (Mario Gómez + Thomas Müller)

Thomas was in an euphoric daze all afternoon after the match against Portugal. There was, of course, the bliss of winning with his teammates against a strong opponent, and there was the glory of scoring a hattrick. But it must have played in the back of his mind, like an old summer hit stuck in your head, that something was missing. Yet it hadn’t dawned on him, not really.

Marco was a loss, obviously. He had been great in the last couple of weeks and Thomas had always thought him a worthy opponent in the Bundesliga. But there were others. Arne. Holger. Michael. And Mario. Mario Gomez, that is.

He had been texting with Holger quite a lot, because they used to be very close. He had been to a couple of trainings in the past two years, but his knee didn’t seem to recover. They had had some cups of coffee in town, but despite his own optimism, there had never been a realistic chance of Holger being fit for the world cup.

His was the first text Thomas received after the game against Portugal, though. It said ‘congratulations dude’ and a couple of smileys. Other friends and family members congratulated his play as well via text. But deep down inside he was waiting for that one text, even though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the feeling. But Thomas remembered, because Mario Gomez could not be forgotten.

It was around seven pm when he noticed. They were back at the hotel for dinner and now that the cameras were gone, many of his teammates relaxed into their real selves rather than the selves they were in front of crowds. He sat in the lobby with a couple of guys, talking with Toni about his possible deal with Real Madrid. Thomas still couldn’t believe he was going, but admittedly, Toni had been a little bit of a pain in the ass last months when talking about money. It still felt like a personal insult. Bayern Munich was Thomas’ heart and home and he had always thought Toni was his little Bayern brother.

Across the table, Mesut and Sami were chatting up. They hadn’t seen each other all season, since Mesut left for Arsenal. Mats was telling Mario and André a funny story about Erik, who was sitting next to Mats, his face flushed red. Per and Poldi were talking to Bastian and Manuel and Benedikt had found a quiet corner to have deep conversations about baby animals. And as Philipp joined the conversation with Toni, Thomas realised how heartbreaking football was. He looked around the room and saw broken friendships reunite and that was quite beautiful, really, but this dream lasted, at best, one more month. After that, everyone would go their own way. People would go back to the city they now called home and others may leave to find themselves a new home. Transfer window was opening in two weeks, and who knew what that would bring, or worse, take?

As Thomas sat watching others reunite with their old friends, a sort of sadness washed over him. It was not just for the people around him, but also for himself. He had seen so many leave, some more painful than others. Because missing hurts, and watching people go is hell. He had often talked about it with Mario, who felt at home in Munich, but still missed Dortmund on a daily basis. He looked at the little boy - because he was barely more than that - and saw the way he smile lit up when he opened a message on his phone. Thomas realised he was missing someone too. Painfully missing someone that had been gone long before he left.

As if that someone had heard his thoughts, his phone went off in his pocket. It was Mario Gomez’ first text in maybe five months, it felt awkwardly long ago, but the excitement rushed through his body and he felt his face heat up.

_You were AWESOME tonight, although we’ve had better nights ;)_

Thomas looked around to see if no one was looking at his cheeks turning red. Mario wasn’t referring to the matches they had played together. Or maybe he was referring to that particular one, but especially to what happened afterwards. They had slept together, because it had been so goddamned easy. Mario was already dry-humping him during the game in a crazy celebration. There had been too much unresolved sexual tension built up over the entire season. He hadn’t chosen to, but Mario had dragged him to his bed and Thomas hadn’t resisted enough. He left later that night with a sore body and a head full of regrets. After that, sex had never been really good, and after Mario left Bayern, neither had celebrations.

Thomas looked over his shoulder one more time, to see if no one was spying, and then started typing a reply, slow and hesitantly, thinking over every word and retyping the whole thing at least five times before he sent it.

_But that wasn’t a hattrick._

It was short, but it was sufficient to let Mario know that (a) he had received the text and was okay with texting back and forth, and (b) he was not interested in a repetition of the accident of two years back.

_I’d show you hattrick if I was in Brazil with you._

Thomas blushed and looked around again suspiciously. He should probably go somewhere where he could be alone and text without being afraid of being watched, but he also knew what was going to happen if he did. He didn’t want to end up in Mario’s bed again, because Lisa hadn’t noticed it the first time, but she definitely would a second time. Furthermore, two footballers sleeping together was awkward, and they had talked about it in five word sentences, and there was no way in hell he wanted to go over that awkwardness again. But he also knew Mario’s body and the amazing things he could do with it, and once he was alone with him in one room again, Thomas wouldn’t be able to stop him. He thought that being alone with a phone that had access to Mario’s voice was enough to make him do ridiculous things.

_Why would you need three if one is sufficient to win?_

It was stupid, because it wasn’t a ‘no’ or a ‘go away’. All other answers were essentially wrong.

_The more the merrier. Unless you’re saying I already won you over. In that case, let’s meet after the world cup._

He wasn’t joking, Thomas realised shockingly. He stared at the screen of phone as if it had just tried to kill him.

_I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,_ Thomas replied. There was uncertainty in ‘not sure’, but he should have known that anything closely related to a bad idea was more attracting to Mario Gomez than Mario Gomez was to Thomas Müller.

_You never know if you don’t try. Why don’t we?_

It was a lame excuse, of course, but it got Thomas weak all the same. It took all his effort to type the next message, because it was a blatant lie.

_Because I don’t want to, he said._

_Omg, I’m so sorry! I thought you were cool with this, but I won’t do it if you’re uncomfortable with it._ Mario’s reply was quick and sincere, and maybe that was the most painful. Not the missing or the longing, or the ever-lasting sexual tension between them, but the fact Mario was real and honest, in both his love and rejections, whereas all Thomas could give him was lies and pretence.

_It’s okay. Thanks for your compliment anyway._

That was all he could do for the night. Mario had been a mistake. A beautiful mistake, but not one to be made twice. He put his phone back in his pocket and left it there all night, as he picked up the conversation with Philipp and Toni. It didn’t vibrate anymore. They were ready to leave the past behind.


	4. Remembering (Lukas Podolski + Bastian Schweinsteiger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the first Schweinski I wrote, but it's the first one I feel comfortable with publishing. Obviously this counts as "Fics Inspired By The Best Moment In Football Bromance History After Gerlonso 2005, Part One".

Basti thought of 2006. He thought of all the years after that, and for a moment he thought of 2004, but for the greater part of his sleepless night he thought of 2006. It was, of course, the year the world cup was held in his own country. It was also his first world cup. But most of all, it was the year that he and Lukas Podolski became inseparable.

They weren’t inseparable in the literal sense, of course, but there had been a non-spoken promise that they’d always end up together. Every two years, at the very least – although with Lukas’ possible transfer in mind, the idea of ever playing without the other seemed impossible at the time. And they were great. They belonged at Bayern. He had played amazing at the world cup. None of them could have seen his delegation coming.

Basti thought of 2009, when watching Lukas leave for England hurt him more than he cared to admit, but watching what good Arsenal did to him made Basti unable to ever complain about it. Sometimes he thought that was how they had gotten so cold – because Basti couldn’t be honest about how much he missed him and Lukas was building up a new life without looking back. When they met at the 2010 world cup they had been so happy, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t 2006. It was sleepless nights for very different reasons. He remembered worrying for Lukas, still, after all this time. He remembered wondering if Lukas ever thought of him too, and if he was lying awake in another room.

Then his mind went back to 2006, to the greater times. They had spent sleepless nights talking about how exciting it all was. They had been so young. They had known nothing, but as he had heard Lukas’ voice in the dark, and there was a slight tremble of excitement in it, he swore there was nothing left to know.

Basti thought of everything, until he was out of things to remember. Then he snuck out of his room, careful not to wake the others. He soon realised, however, that Sami was snoring louder than his footsteps would ever be.

The knock on Lukas’ door was soft, so that it wouldn’t wake him were he asleep, but would warn him were he already awake. Part of Basti hoped he was, preferably thinking about all the same things that they’ve been through together, and if not, he hoped that Lukas was just thinking about him. No response came, however, and Basti entered carefully.

Lukas was beautifully asleep. Or well – he was beautiful and he was asleep, but his mouth was slightly open, a tiny wet spot on the pillow beneath it. His breathe came in and out a bit louder than usual. He was on his stomach with his face turned to the left, where Basti was standing and breathlessly looking down on him.

Basti thought of 2006. As he listened to Lukas’ steady breathing, he remembered one of the last world cup nights. They had reached the semi-finals and were more excited than ever. In the dead of the night, when it was too dark to see which hand belonged to whom, Lukas’ voice had moved closer, until the bed squeaked softly when Lukas’ weight hit the bed.

They kissed, very softly, as if their lips never even touched, but they did. Magically. It had happened in the dark, in the early hours of the night, and the next morning was too much unlike the dreamy experience of the last night to discuss what happened. After the defeat they had been too disappointed to try it again. The kiss had happened, but none spoke of it and after 2006, things wouldn’t be the same.

But in the 2014 darkness, on a sleepless world cup night, he couldn’t help remembering. It was all too much the same as back then. His face had aged with the North-London winds, his hair was shorter and his stubble more persistent, but the sound his breath and the bump of his body under the blankets had not changed, and Basti found himself wondering if his lips still tasted the same too.

“Can’t sleep?” came a husky voice from the dark. It sounded raw, but exactly the same as eight years earlier.

When Lukas opened his eyes, they glowed visibly in the night and Basti felt his heart beat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, but I couldn’t sleep and I remembered-“

“2006.”

Basti tried looking for Lukas’ face in confirmation, but it was too dark to see anything else than the fact that he was awake, and more beautiful than Basti could ever imagine.

“How do you know?”

“How could I forget?”

It felt, strangely, as if Lukas’ lips were still burning on his, although it was impossible. He had kissed Sarah many times after that, with much more power than he has kissed Lukas back then, but the tenderness of his lips had left something. It could not be taken away.

The roles were reversed as Basti slowly walked to the bed. It made a small noise when he sat down. “I was sort of hoping you hadn’t.”

Lukas didn’t answer. They were silent for long minutes and perhaps they were staring at each other, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Their sleepless nights had never been this silent before, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Not a single day goes by,” Lukas said but he didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to either way. Basti knew, because for him, not a single day had gone by either.

When their lips first touched again, it wasn’t 2006. Lukas’ lips were dry and broken, but it only made Basti want him more. There was no softness and Basti knew for sure this kiss was going to burn on his lips for the rest of his life.

Eight years of unresolved wanting, longing, lust and passion burst out in one hour of heated making out and tugging at clothes, but when they were naked at last, all that was desperate was gone. Basti didn’t need to look at Lukas to know that it wasn’t a matter of sexual frustration or curiousness anymore. So when Lukas wrapped his legs around Basti’s waist and whispered a breathy “I love you” in his ear, he knew that this wasn’t 2006 anymore. Brazil was so much better.


End file.
